SKYE'S POV
The tremor didn't stop.
It wasn't a violent convulsion that threw people to their knees, but a rhythmic, deep-bellied pulse that vibrated through the soles of our boots. It felt like the purr of a massive, sleeping predator that had just felt a fly land on its nose. The boundary stones—the physical anchors of the suppression wards—began to hiss, their carved runes bubbling as the ancient magic of the peaks struggled to contain a force that didn't flow *through* the air, but up from the very center of the earth.
Vaelen stepped back, her bare arms tensing as she adjusted her grip on the heavy falchion. For the first time, the dead, hollow indifference in her violet eyes fractured.
"The wards," she whispered, her gaze darting toward the cracking basalt altar. "How are you... th
